Of Lattes, Life, and Love
by ScintillatingInk
Summary: A Starbucks Barista. A Dreaming Traveler. Bella's POV. B/E M for language and later lemons. "Our hands brushed one another, and a spark traveled up my arm and through my body, momentarily buzzing every single nerve down to my toes."


Chapter One:

It had been five years since I had even touched a cigarette and my experience had been amateur to say the least (I had coughed and spluttered my way through a goody-two-shoes-seventeen-year-old attempt at rebellion). Still, I stood here, outside the back door of the Starbucks I worked at, puffing away like I had been doing it my whole life. I have to admit, that the first drag felt good. My stress melted away for a few long seconds. Now I was just inhaling and exhaling the smoke because it was something to do during my break. I needed to be busy.

I needed to be occupied so I couldn t succumb to the rage that had been teeming below the surface of my skin since yesterday.

And yet, as I smoked, out here, my mind was spewing angry curses and filth at 120 miles per hour that would make a sailor blush.

Mike. That lying, cheating, dog of an asshole. My boyfriend ahem, ex-boyfriend.

Part of me wanted to go back to the apartment tonight, scream at the top of my lungs, and bitch-slap him all the way to the moon.  
If that was possible.

However, the other part of me (the larger part, I might add), wanted to plan a sneaky, but sweet revenge.

Just as I was getting started on the endless list of possibilities for this revenge, my boss, Eric, decided to make appearance, opening the back door with such force that it fell off the bottom hinge and was now dangling uselessly in the snow.

"Dammit, Arabella! Just look what you made me do!" he growled. I had given up long ago on telling him that it was Isabella just Bella, not Arabella, Isadora, May-Bell, or any other ridiculous thing he would come up with.

"Break's over! There are customers waiting!"

I took one last drag of my cigarette, stamping it out in the snow, and accidentally exhaling smoke into Eric s greasy face.

Okay, maybe it wasn't an accident.

I plastered a fake smile on my face, while my mind was plotting evil schemes of revenge (many of which involved duct tape and the latest Backstreet Boys album) and went back to my job as a barista and cashier at Starbucks.

The job was boring, to say the least. There were only so many drinks on the menu. And Forks, Washington had little variety in its people, so it was safe to say I knew every customer and what they would order as soon as I saw them.

Like now, for instance.

Lauren Mallory, manicure-artist and bitch-extraordinaire, jiggled her way over (if you know what I mean) and ordered a skinny hazelnut latte, because some of us can t afford to get love handles so early in their lives , and I anticipated the words before they left her mouth.

Then there was Angela. She really was a sweet girl, taking care of her two younger siblings by day and studying to become a nurse by night. She would order a Tazo Chai and a blueberry muffin and study from textbooks while she was here.

Next was Tyler Crowley, construction worker and painfully-obvious-flirt. He would order a double shot of espresso and a sausage-egg-and-cheddar breakfast sandwich after feeding her a line something like "Do you have a map, Bella? I keep getting lost in your eyes." He was cute, I would admit, but just not my type.

At this point however, I was no accurate judge of who was and who my type wasn't or was. I had just been cheated on by a good-for-nothing bastard who didn t even wear matching socks. I was in no position to be picky, so I grinned and batted my eyelashes, letting him think he was the shit. He left me his number on a napkin along with the line "You have nice legs, Bella. What time do they open?"

I gagged and ripped the napkin up angrily.

That was it for not being picky. I would be as picky as I wanted. I would now settle for no less than a sex god who was rolling in money and would treat me like I was Aphrodite.

"Next customer on line, please?" I croaked, still disgusted by Tyler's attempt to pick me up.

I was shocked that recognition failed me at the next customer in line. He was the most beautiful specimen of a man I had ever seen. From under a black beanie, a few stray bronzey-reddish locks fell into his eyes, which were a piercing green, his perfect jaw seemed like it had been sculpted out of marble, and his lips were full and soft-looking.

"Are you alright?" he asked me, noticing my pained expression from Tyler's advances. Or maybe it was the way I was gaping at his god-worthy beauty like I was a constipated blowfish. I shook my head quickly.

"Yeah, I m fine. What can I get for you?"

He swiped the beanie from his head and ran a hand through his gorgeous locks.

Sex-God CHECK!

"I was actually wondering if you could recommend something? What do you think is good?'

_Well, Mr. Beanie-God-Gorgeous-person-I-don t-even-know, I ll tell you what I think is good..._

That was when I noticed dark circles under his eyes. I pulled my mind out of the gutter and recommended a highly-caffeinated Vanilla Latte, as he looked like he could use some rest. _Smooth, Bella, real, real smooth_.

"Yeah, actually I've come a long way so that sounds good." he consented in a way that made me curious, "I'll also have a slice of coffee cake."

As he handed me a 20-dollar-bill, our hands brushed one another, and a spark traveled up my arm and through my body, momentarily buzzing every single nerve down to my toes. My eyes shot up to meet his, and my expression of confusion was mirrored in his face. Again I noticed how tired he looked. Beautiful, stunningly beautiful, but weary in his green eyes. I blushed and look down, figuring out his change and being careful to give it to him without skin-to-skin contact.

"You can actually just sit down," I said quietly, "I'll bring the order to you since you look so tired."

I shocked myself. Where the hell had this sweet, coquettish version of me come from? I was surely going insane. It must be the whole ordeal with Mike, I reasoned.

"Thanks." He said, his tone equally soft and quiet.

He went to sit down and I prepared his latte, nervously. Who the hell prepares a latte nervously? It's just a latte, I mean, it s just a freaking latte. I suppressed a hysterical laugh. The guy was driving me nuts and I didn t even know his name.

I took a slice of coffee cake, making sure it was on the large side and stepped over to the table he had chosen, which was in the corner. He thanked me when I set his order down on the table.

"Thank you," he said, casting an eye over my name tag, "Isabella.

" Holy Jesus H. Christ!

My name slipped past his tongue like silk and I felt weak in the knees.

He stuck out his hand for me to shake, and although I wasn t sure if I could handle any more of that electrical-zingy-thingy, I took it, and let the feeling engulf my body.  
"I m Edward,"

"Actually, it s Bella," I blurted out, my cheeks flaming. He looked confused for a moment.

"I d rather you call me Bella, Edward," I said, reveling in the sound of his name.

"Bella," he grinned crookedly and again my mind fell with a resounding plop into the gutter, "its fitting."

If it was possible, I blushed even more.

"Are you new in town?" I asked, desperately trying to keep up a conversation.

With Edward.

The Sex-God.

"Yeah, actually," his face looked pained. _Great job, Bella, bring up a touchy subject, Bella_. "I'm just stopping by for a few days." His voice had an air of finality, which told me not to bring it up again. Or bring anything up again for that matter.

So I told him that I probably should get back to work and he said it was nice to meet me and I told him likewise and like I said, I got back to work.

On his way out, Edward-sex-god-man-with-a-fuck-hot-crooked-grin-smirk-thing, smiled at me. A genuine, beautiful smile. I almost fell over, but I controlled myself, and smiled back, blushing down to my toes. The minute he stepped out the door I was overcome by a sense of sadness and loss.

I let my sex-god go, and went on with my droll job.

At the end of the day, my boss basically ran home, leaving me to clean up and lock up. I did so and put on my jacket and headed out into the cold, where my trusty red pick-up waited for me. Usually, my baby was the only car left in the lot, but today, on the far side, was parked a silver Volvo. I brushed it off as a loiterer and got in my car, driving off and dreading the scene at my apartment tonight.

I was this close to going with option A.

Scream at the top of my lungs and bitch-slap him to mars.

Or was it the moon?

Is that even possible?

But instead, when I got to the apartment, I found nothing, no-one. All his clothes and all his stuff were gone. At least he had the sense to get out before his impending doom, death, and destruction, Bella-style.

But the damned bastard still had the key.

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